Like You Were By My Side
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: J.T. and Chops find a way to jam together, despite the distance between them.


Had it worked?

J.T. couldn't tell, not at first. Obviously, he could feel that odd, out-of-body sensation that indicated that he had astrally projected himself, but that didn't necessarily mean that it had worked. He'd successfully projected himself out of his mind the last time he had done this too, but only to the space right next to his body.

"Woah! You did it J.T.! I can totally see you!"

Chops' voice rang out excitedly to his left, and J.T. turned to face him. "Well, I'll be," he said, awed by the fact that he had just astrally projected himself 1300 miles (or 2100 kilometers in Canuck-speak) away from his body. "I can see you too, pardner! Clear as day!"

Well, maybe not clear as day. The edges of J.T.'s vision were blurred, but he could certainly see Chops and the vast prairie that surrounded them just fine. Right now Chops was staring at him, grinning, about as surprised that J.T. had pulled this stunt off as J.T. himself was. Astral projection within the physical world was one of the most difficult skills to master, and before this day the only member of their class to use the ability at all had been Phoebe Love.

"This is crazy," Chops continued, still looking at J.T. with wide eyes. "Your voice is all echoey."

"Is it?" Now that Chops had mentioned it, J.T. could in fact hear the subtle reverberation of his own voice.

"How's it feel?"

"It feels…hmm." He couldn't feel much of anything, at least not physically, but was otherwise normal. "Feels like I haven't really left, to be truthful." He noticed that Chops was wearing a light jacket- must be chillier in Saskatchewan than it was in Oklahoma. "Reckon' its cuz I haven't actually gone nowhere." He looked down at himself, his astral form completely transparent. "Holy smokes," he whispered, reaching out to touch a long blade of grass. It passed through his hand, undisturbed.

"Yeah, man. I can see right through you," Chops said as he stepped closer to observe J.T.'s incorporeal form. The black guitar case strapped to his back jostled along with his movements. "That's wild, eh? I could stick my arm right through your head." He stretched his arm out as though to do just that.

"Shoot!" J.T. said, laughing as he jumped out of the way of Chops' arm, his feet making no sound as he landed. "C'mon, knock it off," he shouted when Chops made another playful swipe at him. "I might go barreling back to Noble if you get your finger in my eye."

Chops stopped suddenly. "Oh man," he said, realization in his voice. "Can you still play like that?"

Good question. The only reason that they'd even been trying to do this was so that they could have a jam session outside of camp without either of them leaving their respective homes. It would've been mighty disappointing if J.T. had come all this way only to find out that his harmonica didn't work in this state. He took his harmonica out of the brown leather pouch clipped to his belt and raised the instrument to his lips, playing a quick little tune. Sounded alright to him. "How's that?"

"Sounds good! Echoey, but good!" Chops replied. He sighed in relief. "I mean," he began as he sat down on the grass, shouldering off his guitar case, "it would've been fine if you couldn't." He began unzipping the case. "I'm just glad you're here. I've been thinking about this ever since we first talked about it nonstop." He paused, a dark red blush flaring onto his cheeks. "Um. It's good to see you either way is what I'm saying," he finished awkwardly.

"Yeah," J.T. said, rubbing the back of his neck. Huh. His own face was a little hot for some reason. Probably just a reaction to Chops getting all red in the face, like how when one person yawns, everybody else starts to yawn too. Nothing more than that.

He sat down soundlessly next to Chops, waiting patiently as he took out his guitar. Tuning it would take some time, but that was alright. The wait didn't bother J.T., even if he didn't really know how long he'd be able to keep himself here. He looked out across the prairie before him, watching as the long green-gold grass tilted with a breeze he couldn't feel. He inhaled through his nose, able to faintly detect the sweet scent of grass on the air, similar to the smell of the plains near his own house.

The sun was setting in the western horizon, a round ball watermelon red, the sky surrounding it a bright swirl of peach, lemon and mango. If he popped back over to his body in Noble, would he see the same sight? The fields outside of Moose Jaw were so similar to the ones near his home, despite being so much further up north. It had been the reason for his initial confusion- he hadn't thought that two places so far away from each other could look so identical. But he was definitely here, standing in the same grass-covered plain alongside his closest friend.

Sakes alive. He really was in Saskatchewan. If he could make it this far, what was to stop him from travelling to the Rocky Mountains, or to Alaska, or to any other place he wanted to visit? True, he'd need to have some link to the place he wanted to go, but he was sure that he'd be able to manage that. And shoot, the possibilities would be even greater when Chops figured out how to do it (and J.T. had no doubt that he would, because if J.T. could do it than Chops could too). What could possibly be better than the two of them together, exploring whatever parts of the world their minds allowed them to go to?

He said these thoughts out loud, his voice giddy, excited by the bright future ahead of them both. His enthusiasm spread over to Chops, the pleasant smile on his face transforming into a bright grin the more he listened. "We could go to Montreal," he suggested, "and just jam out right there on the street." His grin turned mischievous, his eyes glinting. "People would think that we're ghosts." He plucked a chord experimentally, and then adjusted one of the silver tuning pegs.

J.T. laughed, the thought of scaring any snooty French-speaker an amusing one. "Ain't your pop from Montreal?"

"He'd be so proud of us," Chops replied plucking that same cord again, this time satisfied. The dusk cast a reddish glow on his face as he strummed a few notes, highlighting the deep green tint of his dark hair. "Where do you want to go?" he asked as he played, the notes long and relaxed.

"Shucks, I reckon anywhere would be good if you were with me," he said, verbalizing the first thought that came to his mind. A strange fluttering in his stomach was felt soon after the words were out of his mouth, the sensation not unpleasant, and his face heated up again. The feeling confused him. Why should the honest truth cause him to react in such a way? He'd felt something like this before back when he had first met Elka Doom, when her pretty face had masked just how off her rocker she actually was. Strange that he should feel such a thing when talking to his best friend. "You ready?" he asked, holding up his harmonica.

Chops replied with a quick 'yep' and the two began to play, starting off with a cheery campfire song. They played together as the sun set, the dusky light transforming into evening shadows cast upon the plain, seamlessly transitioning from one song to the next. There was no awkwardness in these transitions- they both knew instinctively which song the other would want to move on to after the previous had ended.

Eventually, J.T. began to lose steam, the mental exertion from projecting himself so far finally catching up to him. Weariness spread down from his brain to his fingertips. He stopped playing, putting his harmonica back into its case, knowing that his time here was running out. Chops glanced over at him, a look of concern coming over his features as he continued to strum his guitar. J.T. nodded, wordlessly giving Chops permission to continue on without him, wanting hear as much music as he could before the limits of his powers forced him back home.

Message received, Chops kept going, effortlessly switching to a slower, jazzier tune. The notes were no less complex despite the more leisurely tempo, but Chops was skilled enough to pull it off. This song- J.T. had never heard it before- a wistful undercurrent to it, a longing for something that the musician couldn't quite put a finger to, but wanted all the same. Jazz was not J.T.'s forte, so he had no idea which song it was, or who it was by. Maybe Chops had written it. Maybe nobody had written it, and Chops was just playing whatever notes came to mind, and not really thinking about it at all.

J.T. wanted to ask what song this was. He also wanted to keep his trap shut and just listen. He wanted to bring his harmonica out again and add his own touch to this amazing music. But the song stopped abruptly. Chops' fingers stumbled, and he gave a small grunt of discomfort. "Cramp," he said sheepishly, flexing his fingers.

"That was some mighty fine playin' there," J.T. said. He scooted closer automatically. "That was- I think that was the best I've heard from you yet!"

Chops set his guitar down next to him, smiling at the praise. "Thanks," he said softly, pride in his eyes. J.T.'s opinion meant a lot to Chops, and the feeling was mutual. They were both the first to offer each other criticism, and neither would have it any other way.

"What song was that? Did you write it yourself?" J.T. asked. They were both close now, and had J.T. been corporal, their shoulders would have been touching.

"It wasn't really any song," Chops answered. "It was all like, improv. Just came natural to me, you know?" He sounded almost embarrassed to admit this, and he looked away, biting his lip.

"Well, I liked it," J.T. said, "I liked it a lot whole lot." That fluttery feeling had returned. Perhaps it been there in his stomach the entire time Chops had been playing his song, and J.T. had been too entranced by the music to notice.

There was a moment of quiet that passed between them, the two of them gazing up at the clear night sky, glittering with stars. Chops took a deep breath, as though he were steeling himself up for some difficult task, and then turned to J.T. "To be honest," he said, plucking a blade of grass out from the ground. "I've been having a lot of feelings lately. I think they…ended up in that song, you know?" He twirled the blade of grass around a bit before tossing it over his shoulder.

Was that Chops' heart beating so fast? Or was it his own, back in his body in Noble? "I think…" he swallowed, but didn't take his eyes off Chop's face. "I think I catch your meaning there," he finished, both anxious and eager for Chops' response.

Chops' eyes were wide, the emotion within them a mix of hope and nervousness. "Do you?" he asked. "Do you really?"

"Would I lie to you?" J.T. answered. He felt so drained all of a sudden, but he couldn't let his powers fail now- he had to know what was about to happen next. He put all of his remaining psychic energy into staying right where he was.

Chops opened his mouth halfway, took a breath to speak, and then blew it out, discarding whatever it was he had intended to say. A smile played at his lips, shy, but not at all nervous now, and perhaps he didn't need to say anything at all. J.T. smiled back, reaching out towards his friend, and for the briefest of seconds his hand made contact with Chops' shoulder.

And then, in the blink of an eye, Chops was gone. Or rather, J.T. was gone, having been forced back into his body, his mental energy finally depleted. His outstretched hand touched nothing but the warm evening air, and he let it fall to his side, disappointed. Behind him, he could hear the heavy footsteps of Mack, his horse, grazing contently in the nearby grass.

Sensation returned to his body, and he needed a moment to reorient himself. When he got his bearings, he closed his eyes and attempted to make telepathic contact with Chops. The attempt failed, and he was rewarded for his efforts with a wave of dizziness. "Consarn it," he muttered as he held his head in his hands, waiting for the world to stop spinning. He could feel tension at his temples, signaling an incoming headache. He'd have to manage his mental energy better the next time he did this.

And there would be a next time, no doubt about that.


End file.
